by Autumn Reed
Studying the tattoo, I was impressed by the simple yet artistic design. The outline was drawn in thick, black strokes with an intricate tribal design filling the body of the cat. The tattoo was positioned so that the jaguar appeared to be climbing up Theo’s arm.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered.
“Thank you. I got it when I became an official member of Team Jaguar. It was one of the best days of my life.”
“Why is that, exactly? I mean, I get that you guys are close. But, is your job really so important to you to justify inking a permanent symbol of it on your body?”
Theo lowered his arm and angled toward me. “It’s more than a job, Haley. Zenith basically saved my life. Knox did his best to keep me straight, but the truth is, I was headed down a pretty dark path.”
“You? But, you’re so happy and so . . . not dark.”
Theo’s smile was amused but grim. “Clearly, I still have my moments—I really do like those pjs, by the way—but I was a different person back then. I hung out with the wrong crowd and constantly got into trouble. You would not have liked the pre-Zenith trained and educated Theo.”
“Are you referring to the youth outreach program?”
He tilted his head. “Yeah, you’ve heard about it?”
“Not really; Melissa just mentioned it in passing.”
“It’s an amazing program. The founders of Zenith started it about ten years ago as a way to encourage teens to learn life skills they wouldn’t have otherwise. It’s sort of a training ground for future security personnel, but you don’t have to commit to working for Zenith. And just because you go through the program doesn’t mean you’ll automatically be hired. It just turns out that most people who complete the program want to come work for Zenith anyway.”
“Wow. So, is that how you met the rest of the guys on the team? You were all in the program together?”
“Yeah. The training is pretty intense, so you get to know all of the other recruits pretty well. But, the group of us that eventually became Team Jaguar were unusually close. It’s like it was meant to be.”
I remembered what Jackson said about Patrick encouraging the guys to be friends then teammates. Even if destiny wasn’t involved, clearly the guys were shoved in the right direction.
Quoting Theo from weeks ago, I said, “Your own little island of misfit orphans.”
He smiled then, the first genuine smile I’d seen from him all night. “Indeed.”
Thinking about my own situation, I asked, “The misfit thing . . . does it bother you?”
“Who, me?” He laughed. “Haley, have you seen me? My tattoos, hair, clothes, freckles, bikes, hobbies, friends. Does it seem like I’m trying to fit in?”
I shook my head in amusement, “No, I guess not.”
“Why bother? I’d much rather be myself even if it means attracting attention or standing out.”
He had a point. All of Theo’s quirky traits came together to create his unconventional personality, and they were all things I adored about him. If Theo could be so secure in his uniqueness, why couldn’t I?
“You know, if you’re worried about being too normal to fit in with us misfits, we could always shave one side of your head. You’d look badass like that.”
I scrunched my nose and pulled on a piece of Theo’s hair that was hanging in his face. “Um, are you sure you didn’t hit your head?”
He tickled my side in response and I writhed and giggled, reaching out automatically to retaliate. When I gripped his side, he started to laugh, but it quickly faded to a groan. I bit my lip, feeling guilty that I may have caused him pain.
He sighed, “Fine, have it your way. You’ll just have to go on being beautiful and boring. It’s such a curse.”
Then he had the nerve to resume tickling me, and I was helpless to do anything but laugh while he grinned mischievously, clearly milking his injury. I probably would have been annoyed if he wasn’t so cute.
Downtime
Half-asleep, I turned onto my left side and nuzzled into the pillow, inhaling traces of citrus and lavender. The room was quiet, and I sensed that something was different without realizing what it could be. When I opened my eyes, Theo was sitting across the room at his desk, the lamp on and the blinds drawn, focused on what I assumed was homework.
It took me a second to remember that I had fallen asleep in his room last night. Theo must have heard me stir because he rotated in his chair and smiled.
“Good morning, pretty bird,” he said in a cute, sing-songy voice.
In spite of feeling slightly awkward, I smiled. I was glad that he seemed back to his normal self again. He was already dressed and his hair was styled. How long has he been up and why hasn’t he kicked me out of his room?
I sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “Have you been up long?”
He shook his head and I stood, smoothing the hem of my shirt before running a hand through my hair. I felt his eyes graze the length of my body, and I wondered how disheveled I looked. It couldn’t possibly be worse than the first time he met me—when I was wearing borrowed clothes and in desperate need of a shower.
He seemed abnormally quiet, but maybe he was being considerate and letting me wake up at my own pace.
“I’m going to make breakfast. Want some?”
“I already ate, but thanks. I have a test so I’ll be up here studying most of the day.” He stuck out his bottom lip, and I pouted playfully in return.
As I walked downstairs, I fervently hoped I wouldn’t run into Knox. He didn’t need to find out I spent the night in Theo’s room. It was already bad enough that he knew Chase had stayed with me only a few nights before.
I massaged my temples. Haley, Haley. First I shared a bed with Ethan, then Chase, now Theo. Who next? Jackson? I laughed at the thought; I was almost certain that would never happen.
I grabbed clothes out of my closet and headed to the bathroom. The tile was cool beneath my bare feet, and sunlight poured through the frosted window. Off-white subway tiles lined the shower, contrasting with the slate gray floor and the almost-black metal accents framing the shower, sink, and mirror. Standing under the large, antique brass shower head, warm water fell on me. With no plans for the day, I leisurely closed my eyes and cleared my mind; it felt like I was standing outside in a peaceful rainstorm.
I looked forward to the rare days when I was mostly on my own; as much as I liked the guys and working at Zenith, I craved time alone to recharge. And considering how many new things I had experienced lately, downtime at the loft was exactly what I needed.
I shut off the faucet and towel dried my body as a few remaining drops of water dripped slowly out of the shower head. I smiled at the cheerful yellow orchid adorning the white marble countertop; it was in bloom, thriving on the diffused sunlight and high humidity. After pulling on my clothes and hanging my towel over the bar to dry, I combed my fingers through my wavy hair. I was more than overdue for a trim.
Standing at the stove, I whipped up an omelet and consulted the calendar on my phone. Great, I thought. Self-defense lessons with Ethan were scheduled for this afternoon. I hadn’t seen him since Theo’s birthday party and was determined to not get sucked in by his charm. When we were alone, he always seemed interested in me. But after seeing him with another girl at the party, I realized maybe he was like that with everyone.
After breakfast, I grabbed Theo’s spare laptop and sat on the couch facing the stairs. Since Jackson had finally told me the name of their client, I couldn’t wait to find out as much as I could. I didn’t want anyone to come up behind me while I was cyber-stalking Gerald Douglas, although I preferred to call it investigative research.
Skimming his campaign site, I tried to see past the political propaganda; currently a legislator in the California State Senate, he had aspirations of becoming a U.S. Senator. Gerald Douglas was handsome in that suave politician sort of way. He had the kind of picture one would expect—posed in front of an American flag, he smiled at the c
amera and looked polished in his navy blue suit, white shirt, and red tie. His full, dark brown hair was parted to one side and smoothed into place. He looked older than my dad, closer to fifty. His brown eyes sparkled behind rimless glasses, his smile reminiscent of the Cheshire Cat.
I stared at his face and felt like I was struggling to work out the solution to a complicated math problem. I didn’t recognize him, but it was unlikely I would have met him when my dad was a detective. Even if I had, I was probably too young to remember.
Scrolling through the site, I read the rags to riches story of his parents, the fairy tale story of his marriage, and the ideals and optimism he wanted to impart to the nation. There was a brief mention of his time as a district attorney in Los Angeles but not much else; while interesting, it wasn’t helping me figure out his agenda. Was he trying to hurt or help my dad? Or did he even care?
I returned to the search results to see what other items showed up. Unfortunately, apart from his political history and some news articles, there wasn’t anything of substance to be found. After a while it was clear I was spinning my wheels, so I checked my inbox for any messages from Jessica before clearing the browser history, something my dad always insisted on.
When my phone buzzed, I tapped in the passcode and saw a new alert from my Words With Friends app. Chase had introduced me to the game a week or so ago, and I was addicted.
I grinned and tucked my feet beneath me; he must be in philosophy class.
We played a few quick rounds before I stood and slid the phone in my back pocket.
Chase may have been bored in class, but he still had to pretend to participate every so often. Knowing it would likely be a few minutes before he played his next turn, I perused the bookshelves, seeking a new subject to study.
Running my eyes along the book titles, I debated between the endless options—home design, art history, criminal justice, biographies. I finally settled on The Field Guide to American Houses. I had studied a few architecture books in the past, but this looked different with its focus on domestic architecture. I guessed it was a Theo book, but considering their mutual interest in renovation, restoration, and design, I wouldn’t be surprised if Knox had read it as well. I wanted to know more about all of the guys’ interests, and this seemed as good a place as any to start.
Around noon, I peeked my head around the door to Theo’s room. “Hey, Theo, want some lunch?” I held up a plate with a sandwich and a sliced apple.
He looked up and shut his laptop quickly. “Awesome, thanks!”
“How’s the studying going?”
“Pretty good. I can’t wait to be done. I have more important things to focus on.” He paused for a bite of the sandwich and grinned. “Like taking you shopping for a costume.”
“Any ideas?” I leaned on the door frame.
“A few,” he answered, before taking a big bite.
“Would you care to share them with me?” I crossed my arms.
He shot me one of his impish grins. “Nope.”
I rolled my eyes and smiled before walking off to leave him to his studies and his secrets.
* * *
While I waited for the oven to finish preheating, I gathered the ingredients for a batch of chocolate chip cookies. Grabbing the flour and sugar, I felt my back pocket vibrate and figured it was Chase’s latest Words With Friends turn. I set the canisters on the counter and pulled out my phone, surprised to see an incoming text message instead.
Liam: What are you up to today? Wish I could play hooky with you.
Me: The usual - baking cookies and kickin’ butt.
I grabbed the rest of the ingredients and waited for the butter to melt in the microwave.
Liam: Seriously, cookies? What kind?
Me: Chocolate chip
Liam: My favorite! Save me some? You can give the butt kicking to someone else.
Me: Ethan’s on deck for today, but don’t get too comfortable. You could be next.
Liam: Bugger. He better not eat all the cookies.
Me: Don’t worry; I’ll hide a few for you.
Liam: Thanks, gorgeous!
Although Liam had taken to calling me “gorgeous” lately, I didn’t take it too seriously. I figured it was another one of his pet names for girls, like “kitten” or “love.”
When the butter was sufficiently melted, I measured the dry ingredients before switching on the mixer and beating the butter and sugar together. With the mixer on medium-high speed, it was hard to hear much else as the beaters clanged against the bowl. But the noise was meditative somehow, soothing and reminiscent of baking cookies in Coleville.
I knew the recipe by heart and my body functioned on autopilot, freeing my mind to wander. What would Jessica think of the guys? Would she have a favorite? I added the vanilla extract, egg, and baking soda. Switching the mixer to low speed, I slowly poured in the flour mixture, adding it a little bit at a time. Knowing Jessica’s penchant for tall blonds, she’d likely start flirting with Chase or Knox—or both—within minutes. I laughed at the thought; I doubted either of them would be particularly receptive to Jessica’s exuberant personality.
After the ingredients were fully incorporated, I shut the mixer off and measured the chocolate chips. I couldn’t help but snitch a few as I stirred them into the thick batter with a large spatula. The oven beeped, alerting me that it was ready for baking. I gathered the cookie sheets and a metal spoon and began scooping the dough into balls before placing them on the baking sheet.
Once the cookies were in the oven, I grabbed my phone and opened a group text message before hovering over the keys. I hesitated between my desire to invite the guys to dinner and my discomfort at initiating text messages absent an emergency. But, I’d been wanting to cook dinner for all of them; it was something small I could do since they still refused to let me pay for anything. So, I typed the message and quickly hit send before I could over-think it any more than I already had.
Me: Dinner tonight at the loft at 7:00pm. Hope you can make it!
A few minutes later, my phone chimed several times, signaling incoming messages.
Knox: Count me in.
Theo: I’m stuck on campus. Save me some leftovers. :(
Chase: Can’t wait! Thanks, Haley.
When the kitchen timer beeped, I pulled the last sheet of cookies out of the oven. They smelled like sugary-chocolatey deliciousness, and I resisted the urge to eat one while I shifted them to the cooling rack.
Ethan walked in and set his satchel and gym bag on the floor near the couch. “Awww, cookies—for me? You’re too sweet.”
I smirked in response but avoided eye contact. I spent most of the afternoon trying to block our upcoming alone time, and now that it had arrived, I felt unprepared.
“Unless you’re planning to weaken all your would-be assailants with freshly-baked cookies, you don’t look very ready for self-defense training.”
I took a second glance at Ethan, and it was clear he had just come from work in his slacks, subtly patterned button-down shirt, and trademark glasses. “I could say the same about you.”
Feeling awkward, I almost preferred the thought of hand-to-hand combat over conversation. I wiped my hands on the kitchen towel. “I just need to change; be right back.”
When I returned to the living room in running shorts, a sports bra, and tank top, Ethan was scrolling through his phone. He had removed his glasses, and I almost halted at the sight of him in gym shorts and a fitted T-shirt that clung to his every muscle. Whoa.
He looked up from his phone, and his rich brown eyes scanned the contours of my body and lingered on my legs. “You certainly make an attractive target.”
I tried to hide the color rapidly flooding my neck and cheeks by quickly turning toward the stairs to the basement. Hand on the rail, I focused on the steps as I led the way, feeling my loose braid bounce on my shoulder.
After Knox had first shown me the basement, I started visiting it several times a week to work out. Despite
being mostly below ground level, natural light streamed in from the rectangular windows located near the surprisingly tall ceilings. Part of the basement served as a gym, complete with workout machines, free weights, a punching bag, and a padded area for combat practice. The other section housed a pool table, air-hockey table, leather sectional, television, and bar area with a sink and mini fridge. Stained concrete floors kept the area a nice, cool temperature despite the openness.
While Ethan hooked his phone up to the speaker system, I walked to the padded flooring and stood silently, awaiting his instructions. A song started playing over the speakers—a fast-paced tempo with an edge—the perfect workout music.
Ethan adjusted the volume and then crossed the room to stand facing me. “Let’s start with some basic moves? I’ll try to attack; you defend. It will help me assess your strengths and weaknesses.”
My dad taught me a number of basic self-defense moves, and we practiced occasionally, but I was pretty sure I was out of my league with my new mixed martial arts master. I nodded and could feel the butterflies flitting around my stomach as I waited for his first move.
When Ethan’s hand sprung in my direction, I successfully darted out of the way to avoid it.
“Good. Quick reflexes,” he said.
He reached toward me again, much faster, attempting to grab my throat. Immediately, I shoved my right wrist toward his nose, and he backed away before I could strike.
When Ethan tried to put his hands on my waist, my knee jerked toward his groin. “Alright, point taken; no need to demonstrate.” He smirked.
All the while, I remained quiet, focused. It was clear that he was holding back, and I was waiting for him to launch his attack. He stepped back a few feet, giving me space, but I could feel an undercurrent of energy, tension, surging between us.
“Unlike most of my first-time students, you don’t shy away from hitting me.”
I took that as a compliment and smiled, my muscles warmer and my pace faster. “Well, I’m not completely inexperienced,” I said. “And it’s a lot easier to practice hitting you than my dad, although I eventually got over that too.” I flipped my braid behind my shoulder.
